Damage Control
by Zathara001
Summary: Post NCIS: Los Angeles Season 7, Episode 5 ("Blame It on Rio"), Callen realizes some damage control is needed.
1. Chapter 1

So, this snuck up on me (read: clobbered me over the head with a baseball bat) while I was working on two other stories (third in "Errand of Mercy" series, and third in "Detached Duty" series, if inquiring minds want to know). Naturally, I had to finish this one first.

As always, all rights in this work are hereby given to the copyright owners.

The operation - such as it was - was over. They'd captured Rio Syamsundin and gotten him and Agent DiNozzo on a flight to Washington - a flight which was even now taxiing toward the runway for departure.

Kensi and Deeks hadn't accompanied them to the airport, opting instead for a rare early out. Once the plane had backed away from the terminal, Sam had gone home to Michelle and his family, so why was G still standing at the departure gate, watching the 737 accelerate for takeoff?

Because something wasn't right. G knew that. He just didn't know _what_ wasn't right, and standing here, alone in a crowd of people, just maybe he'd be able to figure it out.

Assuming, of course, that the surprisingly vigilant airline personnel would stop interrupting him. Sure, all it took was a flash of his badge and they backed off, but their intrusions were irritating nonetheless.

Irritating or not, in the end, the airline personnel were the ones who connected the dots in his mind.

It was a little thing, nothing G would notice ordinarily, just a supervisor reprimanding a subordinate, but it was like a high-beam flashlight in a dark room, illuminating just one thing, but that one thing was enough to build a picture of the entire room.

He knew what he had to do.

G arrived at OSP before seven the next morning. He'd considered confronting Hetty at one of her houses, eventually deciding against it - not least because she kept an unpredictable schedule as to which house she slept in on any given night, and G didn't want to face her after the frustration, however minor, of tracking her down.

No, fresh off a night's sleep - or a normal sleepless night, as the case may be - was the better choice. So G made a cup of strong tea and went to his desk to work on the paperwork that seemed to be incestuously breeding in his inbox while he waited for Hetty to arrive.

Surprisingly, it was past eight before G heard her footsteps. Without looking up, he tracked her as she crossed to the space that served as her office, set up her laptop and stowed her things, and then while she made her first pot of tea for the day.

This early in the day, he knew, it would be English Breakfast, or maybe Earl Grey, just to get her started. The exotic blends were for afternoon, for pauses during routine days, or for comfort during bad operations.

By the time Hetty settled at her desk, it was closing on nine, and G knew he needed to speak to her before the others got in. He rose and crossed to her desk.

"Morning, Hetty."

"Good morning, Mr. Callen." She finished typing a word, a sentence, something, before raising her eyes to his. "Is there something you need?"

"Need? Maybe. Probably." G dropped into the chair opposite her. She wasn't the kind of woman to be intimidated by him standing over her, but he didn't want even to give the impression that was his intention.

"That's hardly definitive."

"It's not a definitive thing." G met her gaze. "It's a question."

"Well," she tugged the screen of her laptop down, removing one more barrier between them, "ask."

"Why'd you head-slap DiNozzo yesterday?"

Her expression slipped, for less than a heartbeat, into open surprise. G wondered what question she'd thought he was going to ask, but put that thought aside as irrelevant. For now.

"Because Agent Gibbs asked me to give DiNozzo a message," she answered, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

" _Good work_ , is a message. _Don't miss your flight_ , is a message. That was an assault."

Hetty met his gaze without flinching. "I believe your friend Gibbs calls it a wake-up call."

"You can call a rabbit a smeerp, but that doesn't change what it is. Or," he added, "if you're in a more poetic mood, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

"Your point, Mr. Callen?"

"Thought it was obvious." G let a note of challenge into his tone. "Would you call Gibbs and ask him to slap me upside the head - or Deeks, or Kensi, or Sam - in front of others?"

"You wouldn't need a wake-up call," Hetty said.

"We all do, sometimes, even me. Even you. Would you do what Gibbs did?"

That she looked away from his gaze was answer enough.

"Didn't think so." G sat forward. "So you're going to authorize me and Deeks to go to D.C. for a couple of days and fix this. As much as we can."

Hetty's brows drew together. "You, I understand. Why Mr. Deeks?"

"DiNozzo's not the only one who needs damage control on this." G stood. "I've already got us tickets out later today."

"You're awfully sure of yourself, Mr. Callen."

"I am. Because as … disappointed in you as I am right now, you're still a damn good operations manager, and you'll do what's right for your team and NCIS as a whole."

"Your team as well." Hetty blew out a breath, the only sign that any of G's words had affected her. "I will arrange your hotel and a rental car."

G knew better than to let his surprise show. "Thanks."

Hetty nodded once, her lips drawn into a thin line, and G turned toward the bullpen where, he saw, the rest of his team had arrived while he was speaking with Hetty.

"Sorry, Kens," he said as he approached, "but I'm borrowing your partner for a couple of days."

"You can keep him, if you -" Kensi began, then stopped. "A few _days_?"

"Uh-huh. You and Sam can hold down the fort here."

"Something wrong, G?" Sam asked.

"Nothing serious." By which he meant nothing that would require ordnance of any kind.

Sam studied him for a moment, judging how likely it was G was bullshitting him, then nodded once. "Have fun. But not too much."

"When have I ever had too much fun? No, don't answer that." G grinned at Sam before looking at Deeks, who was staring at him wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Still. "Grab your go-bag and let's go."

"Uh -" Deeks' body was already obeying G's order even if his brain and mouth hadn't caught up to it. "Days, you said? Look, Callen, man - I love you, but not _that_ way."

It wasn't until the airplane had leveled off that Deeks demanded answers.

"Why are we going to Washington freaking D.C.?"

G didn't look up from the copy of _The Economist_ he'd bought at a newsstand in LAX. "Congratulations. I didn't think you'd last until we got to the airport, let alone until after takeoff."

"Stop deflecting," Deeks told him. "I won't be deflected. Why are we going to D.C.?"

G closed the magazine over the article he'd been reading and shifted in his seat so that he mostly faced Deeks.

"What happened with Agent DiNozzo was unacceptable."

"Well, yeah," Deeks said. "Losing a prisoner in transfer -"

"He didn't lose the prisoner, and that's not what I meant." G cut off what was sure to become a long ramble.

Deeks blinked, clearly confused. "Then what?"

G stared at him, then shook his head, exaggerating the movement for effect. "How can you be so good at undercover work and at the same time so bad at reading your partner?"

"Huh? What?"

"Your partner. Kensi."

"What about her?" Deeks flashed him a too-wide, too-innocent grin.

G glared at him - a mid-range glare, because it wouldn't do to terrify Deeks into running for the emergency exit while they were still in flight. "You can't read her. Or you chose not to. One or the other."

"What are you talking about, Callen? Seriously, man, I don't have a clue."

"Clearly."

Deeks blinked, and G had to grin. "You walked into that one."

Deeks sighed. "I did. What don't I have a clue about?"

"Kensi," G repeated.

Deeks' expression turned guarded. "What do you mean?"

"I do not need, nor do I want, details," G said. "But am I correct in concluding that you two have expressed feelings for each other that go beyond mere partnership? Expressed in words, not just actions?"

"Uh." Deeks considered that for a moment. "Yeah. I think. Yeah."

G couldn't help snorting at that. "It's Kensi."

Deeks grinned, a little more honestly. "Yeah. I mean, yeah, it's Kensi, and yeah, we've … said things."

It was the perfect opening, and G took it. "Why didn't you believe her?"

Deeks' expression turned almost comically surprised, then outraged. "What do you mean? Of course I believe her."

"Couldn't prove it by the way you acted around Agent DiNozzo." G held Deeks' gaze until the other man swallowed and looked away.

"It's just - she's -"

"Beautiful?" G suggested.

"Yeah. And he's -"

"Attractive and charming?"

"Didn't know you played both teams," Deeks offered weakly.

"I don't," G said. "But I'm not blind, either, and I can be honest about what I see."

Deeks swallowed again. "What - what did you see?"

"I saw a couple of agents who might have been attracted to each other - who am I kidding? They were definitely attracted to each other. But they weren't going to act on it."

"How can you be sure?" Deeks asked, though G suspected he could change the pronoun to _I_ and the question would be more accurate.

"Smart-ass answer? Because I've been attracted to Kensi for years and haven't acted on it. More reasoned answer? Because I know Kensi, and I know how to read people - both her and DiNozzo. There was attraction, sure - but that's as far as it was ever going to go."

Deeks nodded, but he didn't look convinced.

G borrowed one of Sam's put-upon-parent expressions and the tone that went with it. "You do know that not all attraction progresses to the bedroom, don't you?"

"What?" Deeks stared at him. "Yes, of course."

"You didn't act like it with Kensi - or DiNozzo."

"So you're dragging me all the way across the country to … what? Apologize to a man I barely know?"

"No, but that'll be a good cover."

Damn, G wished he had his camera out for this conversation. Deeks was going through entire catalogs of expressions G had never seen before.

"Cover," Deeks repeated carefully. "What's really going on?"

"I'm not sure," G admitted. "I want your impressions - your assessment - of DiNozzo as an operative, as a person."

"Even knowing I'm - I don't like him much?"

"Especially because of that," G said. "You won't over-embellish anything."

"I might under-embellish."

G shook his head. "That's not you, Deeks. You'll be honest, however grudgingly."

"Shouldn't you be making your own assessment?"

"Not this time. For a lot of reasons."

"Give me one."

G raised an eyebrow. "Only one?"

Deeks shrugged. "I'm not naive enough to think you'll give me all of them. Just give me one. Two, if you're feeling generous."

G chuckled, but then was distracted as the cabin attendant asked for their drink orders. G asked for a cup of ice to go with the bottle of water he'd bought at LAX, and Deeks ordered coffee.

When the attendant had moved on, G took a sip of his water before regarding his teammate again.

"Two reasons. First, I'm friends with his senior agent, Gibbs."

"The one who sent the head-slap?"

G's mouth tightened to a frown. "Yeah."

"He know that?"

"Maybe. If he does, it means he won't open up to me."

Deeks considered that, then nodded once. "Okay, I get it. Second reason?"

"He was a cop, too, before he joined NCIS. You have common ground with him that I don't."

"Okay, yeah, that makes sense." Deeks scratched his chin. "What's my reason for being there?"

"You're my backup."

"Okay. And what's _your_ reason for being there?"

"Briefing the director."

"On what?" Deeks sounded suspicious.

"Lots of things," G answered casually. "Personnel issues, mission creep."

"None of which requires backup," Deeks pointed out.

"Have you ever known Hetty to voluntarily send one of us out alone?"

Deeks pursed his lips. "Fair point. Okay. So I'm scoping out DiNozzo. You joining us?"

"Maybe." G grinned. "No telling what three highly-trained undercover specialists might get up to."

Deeks stared at him for a moment, then matched his grin.


	2. Chapter 2

"Do you realize it's only six a.m. in Los Angeles?" Deeks asked as G pulled the rental car into the parking lot at the Navy Yard.

"And it's nine a.m. here," G replied. "And two p.m. in London. What's your point?"

"No point," Deeks said. "Just thinking that I should still be asleep. Except that you dragged my ass across the country."

"You slept plenty on the plane. Or you could have." G shut off the engine and stepped out of the car. "You been to the Navy Yard before?"

"Can't say that I have," Deeks said. "Take it this is one of D.C.'s hot spots?"

"Something like that."

The guard on duty was new - or at least different than the one G remembered from his last visit here. Still, G flashed his badge, and the guard passed him through with little fuss.

"He's with me," G said, nodding toward Deeks.

"ID, please, sir?" the guard asked.

Deeks offered his LAPD badge, and G added, "Detective Deeks, LAPD liaison to NCIS OSP in Los Angeles."

The guard chuckled. "You mean there's a branch of NCIS that voluntarily works with other agencies?"

"All the time," G said, grinning in response to the chuckle, though he cringed inwardly. It wasn't good to have a reputation of not wanting to cooperate with other agencies.

Deeks' visitor pass was sorted out quickly, and G led him to the elevators that would take them to Vance's office by way of the MCRT bullpen.

"How're we gonna play this?" Deeks asked as the elevator doors slid closed and G touched the button for the right floor.

G chuckled. "You sound like we're running an op on our own people."

"We kind of are," Deeks said.

"You've got it easy, then," G said. "Just be honest - you didn't really want to come, but I made you. Commiserate over lousy bosses."

Deeks grinned. "I can do that."

"Not too lousy," G cautioned. The doors opened and Deeks fell back with a yelp.

"What?" G asked.

"Good God, what is that?"

G held the door open, surveyed the room beyond.

"What's what?"

"All that - that - _orange_. It burns my eyes. It's like a demented McDonald's in there."

"Makes you appreciate home, doesn't it?" G clapped him on the shoulder. "C'mon, you won't go blind."

"You sure?" Deeks cautiously opened one eye, winced, then opened the other.

"Hasn't blinded anyone that I know of. Yet."

G stepped out of the elevator, Deeks' "Oh, that's very reassuring," following him.

G paused just outside the elevator, where he wouldn't block anyone else trying to use it, and surveyed the scene. The layout hadn't changed since he'd been here last. Only the people were different - and, in a stroke of luck, Tony DiNozzo sat behind his desk in G's immediate line of sight.

G didn't have to glance at Deeks to know the other man was with him as he approached.

"Agent DiNozzo. Long time no see."

DiNozzo frowned, clearly not sure what was going on, but the expression was gone in a blink, and he rose to come around his desk and offer his hand.

"Agent Callen. What brings you to this side of the country?"

G shook his hand. "Meeting with the director. Doesn't happen often, but some things are best discussed in person."

DiNozzo looked past him. "Deeks."

"DiNozzo."

The two men shook hands, and before either of them could say anything else, Agent Tim McGee emerged from behind his desk next to DiNozzo's and came forward.

"Agent Callen. Good to see you again."

"McGee." Callen shook his hand. "Detective Deeks wasn't with us when you visited."

"Marty Deeks," Deeks introduced himself as he, too, shook McGee's hand. "LAPD liaison."

A glance told G that the desks across from DiNozzo and McGee were empty. "Just you two in today?"

"Gibbs went for coffee," DiNozzo said. "And Bishop's out sick - stomach flu."

"Not fun." Movement in his peripheral vision made G look up to see Vance at the railing that overlooked the bullpen.

"That's my cue," he said. "Try not to get too bored, Deeks."

G turned for the stairs and jogged up them, barely registering Jethro's return and, "Callen?"

He'd have to see his old friend later, after his meeting.

Vance met him at the top of the stairs, offered his hand. "Agent Callen."

"Director. Thanks for seeing me on short notice."

Vance gave a wry smile. "Henrietta made it clear I didn't have much choice."

G winced. "Sorry about that."

"No need to apologize," Vance said as he gestured G to precede him into his office. "Henrietta doesn't throw her weight around often, so I assume this is important. Coffee?"

"No, thanks." G waited until Vance had taken his seat behind his desk before sitting. "And it is important, but not in a way that's immediately obvious."

"Oh?" Vance raised one eyebrow.

"You've been briefed on the Rio Syamsundin incident." It wasn't really a question, but G paused for Vance's acknowledgment.

"I have. And congratulations - I can't pronounce his name no matter how hard I try."

G quirked a grin. "Years of practice, you'd be fine. I'm concerned about an incident that happened at the end of that case, as we were about to escort them to the gate. Hetty stopped us, said that DiNozzo had a call from Gibbs, and Gibbs said she should give DiNozzo a message."

"I'm not seeing why that warranted a trip across the country."

"It was the nature of the message, Director. She slapped DiNozzo on the back of his head."

"Ah. One of his wake-up calls."

"Not you, too?" G let exasperation bleed into his tone. "It's an assault on a subordinate, Director, but it's not my place to complain about that."

G met Vance's gaze steadily, and he saw the moment the other man finished the sentence in his mind: _It's your place to do something about violence in the workplace._

Typically, Vance went on the offensive when he was feeling defensive. "Then what _is_ your place in all this, Agent Callen?"

"I'm registering a complaint because Gibbs felt comfortable asking, and Hetty felt comfortable doing, it in front of my team - a team which might have to work with DiNozzo again." G sat forward in his chair. "Nate hasn't been in our office for a while, but I'll bet he, or any other operational psychologist, would tell you that's not only a breach of courtesy and a breach of protocol, it's also a breach of trust that impacts morale and teamwork."

"And what is Henrietta's position on the matter?"

G heard the challenge in the director's tone and sat back, grinning easily. "I spoke to her about it yesterday. She's not going to do it again - but what about other people in other offices? Or worse, other agencies? Suspects, lawyers?"

"DiNozzo hasn't filed a complaint."

"DiNozzo lets Jethro hit him, that's on him if he doesn't put his foot down. But you're the director of this agency - letting Jethro get away with undermining morale and teamwork… that's on you."

"Why aren't you filing a complaint, if you feel so strongly about it?"

"Because Jethro's a friend, and I'd like to resolve this informally if I can, for all of our sakes."

Vance's eyebrows shot up. " _You're_ resolving this?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" G met his gaze. "But whatever action you take or don't take, you need to know that I will report any future incidents to my full chain of command."

Vance held G's gaze until the phone on his desk rang. Even so, it was a moment before Vance looked away to answer it. "Yes? … Five minutes."

G was on his feet before Vance had the receiver back in its cradle. "Sorry to take up so much of your time, Director."

"You're not done yet, Agent Callen." Vance, too, rose, and G had only a moment to wonder what might be coming next before Vance continued, "There's a call from your office coming into MTAC."

G followed Vance into the Multiple Threat Assessment Center, taking the opportunity to study the room, as it was his first time inside.

 _Looks like a glorified movie theater_.

He'd never voice it aloud, of course, but G let himself grin just a little at the thought. And grinned even more at the apprehensive looks some of the techs were giving him.

Then the large screen came to life, and G found himself looking into the Los Angeles office Ops Center. Hetty, Kensi, and Sam looked back.

"Leon," Hetty said.

"Henrietta. Agent Blye, Agent Hanna," Vance returned the greeting. "To what do we owe the pleasure of this call?"

"Not a pleasure, but a mission."

G was sure his eyebrows lifted as high as Vance's.

"What kind of mission?" Vance asked.

"The DEA has requested our assistance - specifically, Agent Callen's assistance - in infiltrating a meeting of mafia dons who will be coordinating the distribution of heroin and cocaine throughout the Eastern Seaboard."

"Why Callen?" Vance asked. "Why can't their people handle it?"

"Because I worked a mob case when I was with them," G answered before Hetty could. "As far as I know, that alias was never burned."

"Indeed it wasn't," Hetty said. "And, more to the point, the DEA has been backstopping it in the meantime."

"What?" G couldn't help the exclamation. "That's been - ten years or more."

Hetty's lips twitched. "As the DEA deputy director who contacted me said, you never know when you might need it again."

G groaned. "That wouldn't be Jaime Mendoza, would it?"

Hetty's smile was answer enough. Vance looked from her image on the screen to G.

"Who's Jaime Mendoza?"

"He was my partner on that op," G said. "Am I working with him again?"

"No, this is purely an NCIS operation," Hetty said. "Deputy Director Mendoza suspects there might be a leak in his organization, so he's keeping his people out of it."

"When's the meeting going down?" G asked.

"Eight o'clock tonight, at a restaurant called Tortina Floriana." Hetty's expression turned grimmer. "Unfortunately, that means that Agents Blye and Hanna cannot get there in time to back you up, Mr. Callen."

"Deeks is here." G put confidence into his tone.

"And I'll assign personnel from this office, too," Vance put in. "Just tell me what you need."

"Good luck, Agent Callen." Hetty said.

"Hetty -" G stopped her before she could disconnect the call, and she raised an inquiring eyebrow at him. "Short notice, no access to everything we've got at OSP … I'm gonna need a bigger budget."

Behind Hetty, Sam unsuccessfully tried to turn a laugh into a cough, and Kensi grinned. Hetty, of course, appeared unmoved.

"I have already informed Deputy Director Mendoza that, as we are undertaking this operation at his request, his agency will be paying for it. That is not, of course, a license to be profligate with taxpayer monies."

"Of course," G agreed.

"Mr. Beale will send everything we have to your and Mr. Deeks' phones." Hetty nodded at him. "Leon."

"Henrietta."

The call disconnected, and for a long moment, G simply stood there, reviewing his memories of that operation with the DEA, recalling the persona of Sebastiano Lapaglia.

It wasn't a legend he was looking forward to living again.

"Callen?" Vance prompted. "What do you need?"

"First things first - a suit." G strode for the door and loped down the stairs - only to be met by a whirlwind in a white lab coat.

He huffed a breath and staggered back a step as Hurricane Abby Sciuto threw herself into his arms. "G! G Callen!"

"Abby. Abby Sciuto," he said, hugging her back because how could he not? And Jethro's annoyed expression just made him hug Abby tighter. "Good to see you, but I can't talk right now."

"Just for a minute! I -"

"Miss Sciuto." Vance's voice sounded from behind G.

Abby blinked and stepped away from G. "Leon?"

That pause was all G needed. "Abby - we'll talk later. I'll buy you a drink, even, but -" he sought Deeks' gaze, met it. "This just became a working vacation."

Deeks straightened. "What's going on?"

"I'll tell you on the way."

"On the way where?" Deeks asked, but G was already turning to DiNozzo, who had also straightened.

"I need a suit," G said. "Tailored - Armani, the equivalent or better. And I need it in six hours."

"Why would you think Tony knows where to get a suit like that?" McGee asked, and G saw weariness flash across DiNozzo's expression.

"Because," G replied, not taking his eyes from DiNozzo. "Anyone wearing tailored Tom Ford knows where to get what I need."

"Yes," DiNozzo said slowly. "I know where to get one."

G turned back to Vance. "While I'm getting fitted, have someone coordinate with Nell and Eric in L.A. for the gear I'll need. And someone to monitor comms while I'm in would be good, too."

Vance nodded. "Go, DiNozzo - get Callen what he needs."

"Leon -" Gibbs began.

"We have less than twelve hours to plan this op, Gibbs," Vance said. "Let's not have any undue delays. McGee."

"Sir?" G almost winced at the eager puppy look on the other agent's face.

"Get on the horn with L.A. I want you to have all the gear Callen needs by the time he gets back."

"Yessir."

G grinned at DiNozzo. "Your car or mine?"

"Mine's an agency car - my Mustang won't hold three comfortably."

"Agency cars do go places other cars can't go," Deeks observed. "But we've got a rental."

DiNozzo perked up. "Rentals can go even more places."

" _Gentlemen_." Vance's tone cut across their discussion. "However loosely that term might be applied. I will say this only once. No agency or rental car will go anywhere that any other cars don't go."

"This way." DiNozzo grabbed a go-bag and started for the garage. G followed and Deeks fell into step behind him.

"I thought Hetty was a downer," Deeks muttered. "She learn from him? Or he learn from her?"

"I heard that, Detective."


	3. Chapter 3

DiNozzo took them to an agency sedan, and G slid into the passenger seat. When they were out of the garage, Deeks leaned forward from the back seat.

"What's going on, Callen?"

"Meeting of mafia dons tonight." Briefly, G explained the operation, concluding with, "DEA wants my help because they may have a leak, and my alias has never been burned."

"What alias?" DiNozzo asked from the driver's seat as he negotiated an on-ramp to the freeway. This time of morning, it was only somewhat congested, oddly reminding G of Los Angeles traffic.

"Sebastiano Lapaglia."

DiNozzo stared at him. "Seriously? That was you?"

"Yeah," G said, eyeing the other man cautiously. "Why?"

"Tony Macaluso."

G blinked. "You're shitting me."

DiNozzo grinned widely. "I shit you not."

G shook his head, chuckling. "I always wondered how he got away when the rest of the family went down."

"You two mind speaking English?" Deeks asked.

G glanced over his shoulder at the other man. "The Macaluso family was the biggest mafia takedown since Capone. Rumor had it that someone worked on it from the inside, but nobody could ever prove it."

"Huh." Deeks sounded impressed, and G turned back to DiNozzo.

"That identity still good?"

DiNozzo shrugged. "Far as I know."

G debated for only a second. "Want to go in with me? It would be good to have someone I can trust at my back."

"Hey!" Deeks sounded offended. "What about me?"

"How well do you speak Italian?" G asked in that language.

"Spaghetti," Deeks replied in English. "Lasagne. But I could be your consigliere. Or maybe a capo. I've always wanted to be a capo."

G switched to English. "Let me try again. It would be good to have someone who also speaks Italian at my back. You'll be in charge of backup."

"What if Vance assigns someone more senior than me?" Deeks asked.

"He might try," G admitted. "But it's my op, and you know how I work. You're in charge if things go sideways."

"Because things never go sideways," Deeks muttered.

Twenty minutes later, DiNozzo pulled the car to a stop outside a small storefront. _Giovanni's Men's Suits_ was stenciled in gold on the glass door, and beyond it G saw several suits on mannequins, as well as racks of jackets and trousers lining the walls.

The shop itself was warm after the crisp fall air outside, and G hung back, letting DiNozzo take the lead.

"Antonio!" A jovial man probably half again G's age, emerged from the back room of the shop, enthusiastically kissing DiNozzo on each cheek before launching into a stream of rapid Italian.

"What's he saying?" Deeks asked quietly.

"We're still in the greeting part," G said, equally quietly - though the chances that the shopkeeper would actually pay attention to them were slim. "That'll take five minutes, at least. Cutting it any shorter would be rude."

"Five minutes is short?"

"Italians only talk fast," G said. "Everything else happens at a snail's pace."

"You mean it'll take six hours just to ask for the suit?"

G bit back a grin, then blinked as he listened to the conversation. "No, he's already getting to that part."

And then G was caught up in a flurry of activity as the shop owner - Giovanni, as advertised on the door - had him strip down and get measured and fitted, all while talking excitedly in Italian.

G answered the questions - a fiancée? - taking his cue from DiNozzo, his Italian coming back to him more fluently the more he spoke.

Finally, with multiple assurances from Giovanni that the suit would be ready at the allotted time, G escaped back into the October morning.

"What was that all about?" Deeks demanded, and DiNozzo laughed even as G scowled at him.

"You had to tell him I'm coming to beg permission to marry some girl half my age?" G asked. "And my luggage got lost on the way, and there's a big family dinner tonight?"

"Worked, didn't it?" DiNozzo grinned.

"Isn't that a little over the top?" Deeks asked.

"Italians invented over the top." DiNozzo slid a pair of sunglasses on.

Deeks raised one finger. "Gotta call bullshit on that. Pretty sure over the top was around before there were Italians."

DiNozzo shrugged. "We invented opera, which is about the same thing. Where to next?"

For an op that was planned on the spur of the moment, G felt things were coming together nicely. And then he reminded himself not even to think that thought too strongly. Fate, at least where he was concerned, had a twisted sense of humor.

G and DiNozzo had spent the rest of the afternoon reviewing the backstopping the DEA had put in place for Sebastiano Lapaglia and coordinating similar backstopping for Tony Macaluso with Nell, together concocting a story that would hold up under examination as well as one that would explain why they arrived together.

McGee, with Eric's assistance, had collected all the gear they'd need - earwigs, button cams, recording devices, and the like, and triple-checked them all so that they were in working order.

Deeks had gotten a simple black suit and rented a limousine. As Lapaglia and Macaluso's driver, he'd be close on scene if needed.

Gibbs had wanted to take the lead as their backup, and for a moment, G had thought he'd have to step in. But Deeks, either unaware or uncaring of Gibbs' reputation, just shrugged it off.

"How often have you worked with Callen in the last five years?"

When Gibbs had no answer, Deeks said simply, "My lead," and that was that.

Now, at ten past eight, Deeks pulled the limo up to the curb in front of Tortina Floriana. As one of the last to arrive, the limo should be well-positioned for a quick getaway, should one be needed.

"Ready?" G asked DiNozzo.

"Let's do it," DiNozzo replied.

"Wait," Deeks said. "I forgot to ask - what's the duress word?"

"Is that like a safe word?" McGee's voice came cautiously through G's comm.

"Aww," DiNozzo said. "Probie knows what a safe word is. I'm so proud."

"Shut up, Tony," McGee said, and from any one of G's team, it would've been a joke. But McGee's tone was insolent and G raised an eyebrow at DiNozzo, who appeared to shrug off the insubordination, instead meeting G's inquiring gaze steadily.

"You know what we're here to do, right, Callen?" DiNozzo said, and there was that almost maniacal grin again. "We're here to chew bubblegum and kick ass."

G had to grin at the reference - even if he only recognized it because Aiden had made him watch the movie once. "And we're all out of bubblegum."

G saw Deeks' grin in the rearview mirror. "Got it. Happy hunting."

G and DiNozzo were halfway to the restaurant door when McGee's voice came through their earwigs again.

"Wait - I don't get it. What's the safe word?"

"The duress word," Gibbs snapped, "is bubblegum."

"You don't go undercover much, do you, McGee?" Deeks asked.

A glance at DiNozzo's expression told G that the answer to that question was somewhere between never and not at all.

Still, G let the banter fade from his awareness as he and DiNozzo reached the door, where they were blocked by a man about Sam's size who wore a badly-tailored suit that didn't do anything to disguise the shoulder holster he wore under the coat.

Then again, maybe it wasn't meant to be hidden. The man moved to his left, fully blocking the door.

"Private party tonight," he said. "Invitation only."

G didn't bother with niceties. "Sebastiano Lapaglia and Tony Macaluso. "They will let us in."

Either one or both of the names he offered made the other man's eyes widen - but he stood frozen in place.

"You see, Tonio, how they make us wait," G said in Italian. "Perhaps we should take our business elsewhere."

"It would be their loss, Bastian," Tony replied in the same language. "But I would hate for you to have wasted your time coming tonight."

"Bah," G said. "You do not waste it. They do. Come, I will wait no longer."

"Forgive me, _signori_ ," the doorman said. "My humblest apologies. I was not told to expect you - either of you - tonight. Please - come in."

G looked at DiNozzo and switched to English. "What do you think, Tonio? Should we forgive him?"

DiNozzo appeared to consider it for a moment before shrugging. "I would - but it is your decision."

"You have always been more forgiving than I," G said, and could _not_ grin, let alone laugh, at the splutter he heard through his earwig.

"What?" McGee asked.

"I read up on their covers," Deeks responded after a moment. "Calling either of these guys _forgiving_ is like calling a two-by-four a toothpick."

By the time that exchange was over, G and DiNozzo were inside the restaurant. Like DiNozzo, G had spent an hour or so reviewing the major players who were expected to attend this meeting. He scanned the room, noting Andrea Marchisio, Lorenzo de Sciglio, and Federico Conti seated among others whose faces he didn't recognize.

"That's like a _Who's Who in the Mafia_ meeting in there," McGee said.

Not for the first time since this operation began, G wished Eric Beale or Nell Jones were at the computer on the other end of the commlink. They would've already started matching names to faces from his and DiNozzo's button cam feeds. But then, this was a hastily-put-together operation. G couldn't complain too badly.

Then he and DiNozzo were caught up in introductions and explanations, and G could only hope that everything was being recorded - not just because of the nature of this meeting, but also for further backstopping of their aliases.

The evening passed uneventfully, including five courses of food, accompanied by copious amounts of wine which G mostly avoided, as did DiNozzo. Finally, when the _formaggi e frutta_ platters came out, they got down to business and G brought his full attention to bear on the discussion.

By the time the _espresso_ was served, G felt just a little too full and a lot too comfortable back in this environment. His own lack of a family growing up had made him vulnerable to the family the mafia offered, and he knew it. But knowing it was the first step in not being caught up in it.

He hadn't gotten caught up in it when he worked for the DEA, and he wouldn't get caught up in it now - no matter how attractive it might feel.

That, of course, was when the room exploded in the crashing of doors, the _rat-tat-tat_ of semi-automatic rifle fire, and shouts of _"DEA!" "Nobody move!"_ and _"Hands in the air!"_

G raised his hands above his head and glowered at DiNozzo, who just shrugged, his own hands raised away from his body. "I would really like some bubblegum about now."

Two hours later, G and DiNozzo, along with Deeks and Gibbs, were back in the Navy Yard. G had changed out of his suit the moment he possibly could - he'd gotten through a firefight without getting it damaged or dirty; no sense in tempting Fate any more than he already had - and now paced the bullpen, his phone to his ear as he demanded answers from his former partner.

"What the hell, Jaime? Your men couldn't have waited another half hour for us to get out of there?"

Jaime Mendoza's shrug was almost audible through the phone. "They were all there - no better time to bring them all in. Your recordings are enough to send them all to prison for a very long time."

Yeah, G thought, but if they'd been a little more patient, they could've disabled entire networks. Now, without their heads, those networks would dissolve and the drugs would likely find their way to the streets by some other route.

"Don't sulk, Callen," Mendoza told him. "You did good. I owe you one."

"I'll collect," G said. "Count on it."

There was a pause before Mendoza said, "Thanks for helping us out."

The call was ended before G could reply.

"Dammit." G shoved his phone into his hip pocket. Then he took a breath, and let it out slowly, becoming G Callen again on the exhale.

"Any explanation?" DiNozzo asked.

"Decisions made above our pay grade," G answered.

"Ain't it always the way," Gibbs said from his desk.

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," G said, then yawned as the post-mission crash started to hit.

"Head out," Gibbs suggested. "Debrief tomorrow morning before you head back."

"Yeah," G agreed. "Good idea. You up for driving, Deeks?"

He tossed the keys toward Deeks without waiting for a reply. Deeks caught them easily.

"Yeah, I can drive." Deeks started toward the elevator, paused and turned back before he reached it. "Oh, DiNozzo?"

"Yes?" DiNozzo sounded as tired as G felt.

"Worst use of a duress word. Ever."

But he was grinning as he said it, and DiNozzo managed a grin in return. G counted it a win.


	4. Chapter 4

G slept most of the way back to the hotel, only waking when Deeks slowed to turn into the parking lot.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," Deeks said. "Have a good nap?"

"Good enough." G straightened in his seat, stretched as far as the cramped vehicle would allow. "I didn't even ask before - you good?"

"All I had to do was liaise with a few DEA jackasses," Deeks said. "Who, at least, didn't blow your or DiNozzo's covers. I'm good. You?"

"Aside from being used by someone I'd called my partner? Peachy."

Thankfully, Deeks had known him long enough to take his sarcasm in stride and simply parked the car.

G climbed out of the car and followed Deeks toward the hotel entrance. He stopped halfway there.

"Keys."

"Huh?" Deeks turned back to look at him.

"Keys." G held out his hand.

"Look, Callen - you were just sleeping, and you were practically dead on your feet when we left the Navy Yard -"

"And I've slept since then," G said. "Enough to keep me going another few hours."

Deeks' eyebrows shot up. "A few _hours_? Dude, you'll be lucky to make it to your room before you collapse."

G chuckled. "Sam hasn't bitched to you yet about how little I sleep? I'm fine. Just want to go see a friend for a bit before we go back."

Deeks studied him for a long moment, and G knew he was going to give in. He did, with a sigh. "Fine. Take the keys. But if you fall asleep at the wheel, I'm not responsible."

G caught the keys Deeks tossed to him. "Thanks. See you in the morning."

"You, too - if you live through it."

Then Deeks was gone and G was climbing into the car on the driver's side.

His memory of the route to Gibbs' house was fairly clear, but G programmed the address into his GPS just to be sure, and twenty minutes after he'd left the hotel parking lot, he pulled into Gibbs' driveway.

The door was unlocked, as he'd expected, and G let himself in. He didn't try to conceal his presence as he crossed to the basement door.

It was closed, but a sliver of light gleamed beneath it, so he pushed the door open and started down the stairs.

"Wasn't expecting you tonight." Gibbs' voice cut through the dimness of the basement.

Well, dimness wasn't the right word. An overhead bulb lit a work area and threw the rest of the basement into long odd shadows. G supposed it was enough light for what his friend was doing.

"Yeah, well, you made it sound like we're debriefing and leaving, and not necessarily in that order." G sat on the bottom step. "How many boats is this now?"

"Third one." Gibbs took a board from a … steam machine? G didn't know what it was called, but it apparently made boards somewhat flexible, judging by how Gibbs fitted it to the frame.

"One for each wife?"

"Something like that." Gibbs pulled a hammer from his belt, started pounding the board tight - or so G assumed, given that his knowledge of boat building was limited to whatever Gibbs had told him over the years.

When Gibbs was done, he straightened and looked at G. "What really brought you to Washington, Callen?"

It was a probing question, testing. G decided to probe back. "Vance didn't tell you?"

Gibbs snorted and reached for the bottle of bourbon on his workbench, and then pulled two glass jars from the bench and dumped their contents.

As he poured two fingers for each of them, Gibbs said, "All he'd say is that it was a personnel matter."

Gibbs crossed toward G, and he rose to meet the other man and accept one of the drinks.

"Must've been a hell of a personnel matter to drag you cross country." Gibbs raised his jar, and G tapped his against it.

"It was." G took a sip of the bourbon, savoring the burn down his throat. He might always prefer a good craft beer, but despite what Sam might occasionally say, he could appreciate quality alcohol in any of its forms.

"But it's Vance's place to bring it up," G added. "I just came by to spend some time with an old friend. If you're busy, I'll be on my way."

Gibbs regarded him for a long moment. Then, "Wanna learn how to build a boat?"

G pretended to debate the question, then shrugged. "Why not? Never know when it might come in handy."

G finally made his way back to the hotel around four a.m. He figured he had enough time for a catnap before meeting Deeks for breakfast and pulled the covers off the bed onto the floor before lying down.

No matter how much Sam might tease him for not having a bed, the truth was he found most of them too soft and so he tossed and turned even more than he usually did.

A psychologist with less understanding of him than Nate Getz had might suggest that G found floors, unlike beds, stable, and that his childhood made him seek stability in odd forms.

More than one had, in fact, suggested that very thing, only to be met with G's amused snort and counter that sleeping on the floor had some significant health benefits. A handful of sessions had ended right there as the licensed health professionals (mental health, but still…) dove for their computers to confirm or deny G's assertions.

Still, even G didn't sleep on a bare concrete floor, which is where he'd left Gibbs.

G pulled off his outer clothes, rested his service weapon on the floor beside him, and sank to the pile of blankets he'd made, laying back with his head on the single pillow he'd pulled from the bed with the covers.

His mind was still too active for sleep, reviewing his conversation with Gibbs - or, more accurately, lack of conversation with Gibbs. Why hadn't he just said what was on his mind? Gibbs appreciated plain speaking, but still G held back.

He wasn't afraid of confrontation… or maybe he was. Maybe he was afraid of confronting one of the few friends he had, and maybe losing that friend.

The more G turned that thought over in his mind, the more he realized that it was, if not entirely true, at least partially true. Vance was enough of a politician that he'd raise the issue in general terms, not accusing anyone in particular - even if, a voice inside G's head suggested, it might be best if Vance did accuse one person - the source of the problem - in particular.

Or maybe, a more cynical voice added, he was afraid that Vance wouldn't raise the issue at all, and if that were the case and G had spoken directly to Gibbs, G would have broken a friendship for nothing.

He hated the nights when he realized he was a coward.

G was still turning the situation, and what he could do about it, over in his mind when sleep finally claimed him.

A knock on the hotel room door woke him. He was on his feet, weapon in hand, before realization hit.

 _I can't have slept so late that Housekeeping's here. And bad guys don't knock._

Still, he kept his weapon in his hand as he crossed to the door and looked through the peephole.

With a sigh, he opened the door a crack. "Deeks?"

"Hey, yeah." The other man smiled brightly. For all that he'd complained about the time difference yesterday, he was chipper this morning. "DiNozzo offered to buy us breakfast. You in?"

"When?"

"Eight, so we have time to eat before debriefing."

A surreptitious glance at his watch told him it was almost eight already.

"Thanks for the notice," G grumbled. "I'll be out in five."

"I can wait here." Deeks offered, and for a moment G debated shutting the door in his face just on principle, but then he stepped back and let the other man in.

Five minutes later - two of which involved running his shaver over his face while the shower ran warm - he and Deeks were closing the door behind them.

"How do you even get clean with a shower that short?" Deeks demanded.

"Efficiency," G replied.

"Showers aren't for efficiency," Deeks said. "They're for -"

"I do _not_ want to know what you think showers are for," G said. "Seriously. That's between you and Kensi."

He had to turn away from Deeks' too-wide grin.

"Hey, speaking of that, sort of," Deeks began as the elevator doors closed and he punched the button for the lobby floor. "None of you have given me a shovel talk about her."

G quirked an eyebrow at him. "Do you _want_ Sam to threaten you with bodily harm?"

"No, not particularly. I mean, I already know what that feels like, since the Janklow case. Just wondering why."

"Two reasons," G said. "First, Kensi will kill you herself. We'll be lucky to find pieces of you."

The elevator came to a stop as Deeks asked, "The second?"

"You wouldn't be much of a detective if you hadn't already figured it out." G gave him his most charming grin, then stepped off the elevator before Deeks could reply.


	5. Chapter 5

While it wasn't exactly what G had had in mind for Deeks and DiNozzo, maybe breakfast that morning served the same purpose.

Or maybe the fact that they'd worked a real operation together had.

Either way, the friction G had noted from Deeks seemed to have been smoothed away, and the three of them enjoyed their over-priced, rubbery eggs in the hotel's restaurant.

"Not my first choice," DiNozzo said. "Probably not even my third or fourth choice, but it's close enough to the Navy Yard that we can make it in by nine-thirty."

Then DiNozzo's lips twisted into what should have been a wry smile. "Maybe because I'm with you guys, Gibbs won't be too much of a bear."

"Bear?" Deeks pounced on the word before G could. "Why would he be a bear?"

"He expects us all to be on time, every day," DiNozzo answered with a shrug that should have been careless, but to G's eye looked too stiff to be careless.

"Even after an op that kept you out until after midnight?" Deeks sounded disbelieving.

"Why should that make a difference?"

Deeks stared at the other man, before turning to G. "Callen? Help me out here."

G took a sip of his tea - and damn, but the paper taste was stronger than usual - before he answered. "Aside from the fact that a rested operator is a better operator? Any undercover op, even an uneventful one -"

Deeks snorted.

"Relatively uneventful," G amended, "puts extra strain on the operator. Extra time to recover isn't just recommended, it's mandatory. At least at OSP."

DiNozzo shrugged again, and this one felt more uncomfortable, somehow. "This isn't OSP."

"It was an OSP op," Deeks said. "Shouldn't OSP rules apply?"

"The only rules Jethro Gibbs follows are his own," DiNozzo said.

"Fortunately," G said, "at least one applies here. Rule five."

"Rule five?" Deeks stared at G, then at DiNozzo - who appeared to get it. "What's rule five?"

"Don't waste good," DiNozzo chorused with G.

"In this case," G continued, "it means you don't push a good operator too hard, too long."

"It doesn't apply," DiNozzo replied. "This wasn't a difficult op, not long, no real danger."

G raised an eyebrow at the other man. "Are you seriously going to tell me it wasn't difficult for you to pick up an identity you haven't used in years, to put yourself back into a situation that you barely got out of the first time?"

"Not as hard as being handcuffed to a serial killer for hours on end," DiNozzo shot back.

"I didn't ask for a comparison," G said mildly. "I just asked whether it was difficult."

DiNozzo stared into his coffee for a long time. He didn't look up when he said, "Yeah. It was difficult."

"So a little time to get back out of character and into the real world isn't a bad thing." Even Deeks' typical exuberance was toned down.

"You're probably right." DiNozzo grinned, and it was only because G was studying him over the rim of his mug that he realized DiNozzo had just slipped into another character, another identity - maybe even another legend.

G couldn't help wondering whether DiNozzo lived a legend even when he wasn't undercover.

Thanks to an accident on the way, it was approaching ten by the time G followed DiNozzo and Deeks off the elevator onto the overly-orange bullpen floor at the Navy Yard.

"How do you work in this?" Deeks asked.

"After a while, you learn to ignore it," DiNozzo answered, slinging his go-bag to what was apparently its normal resting place, judging by the familiarity and ease with which DiNozzo made the toss.

G nodded in response to McGee's wave, and noted that Gibbs' desk was once again empty. The desk across from DiNozzo, however, was occupied this morning by a blonde-haired woman who looked halfway alert. This, G decided, must be Bishop, who'd been out yesterday with stomach flu.

"Feeling better, ProBish?" DiNozzo asked.

"Some. Thanks, Tony." Her inquisitive gaze held a question DiNozzo answered with his next words.

"Agent Callen and Detective Deeks, from our Los Angeles office." DiNozzo gestured to each man in turn as he made the introductions. "Eleanor Bishop, newest member of our team."

"Good to meet you." Deeks shook Bishop's hand and stepped aside so G could.

"Eleanor Bishop," G repeated. "NSA?"

"NCIS, now." Bishop had a strong grip. "Got a problem with that?"

"No problem," G assured her. "Your book on unwitting moles was … interesting."

Bishop smiled slightly. "That's what people say when they don't like it."

"Not that I don't like it so much as I think it's incomplete."

Bishop's expression cycled through indignant through outraged and then thoughtful in a heartbeat. "Huh."

G grinned. "Maybe we'll have a chance to talk about it."

"Glad you could join us, DiNozzo." Gibbs' voice sounded from G's right, and he turned to see that Gibbs had returned to his desk without G - or, apparently, anyone else - realizing it.

"Sorry, Boss," DiNozzo said. "Had breakfast with Callen and Deeks."

Gibbs just grunted in response, and G mentally shook his head. He himself wasn't the most communicative of people, but even he knew that words were sometimes necessary. To him, this would be one of those times, but apparently Gibbs didn't agree.

Equally apparently, DiNozzo was used to Gibbs' (lack of) communication, because he just looked at G and Deeks. "Debriefing in the conference room."

"Lead the way," G said.

The debriefing, G found, consisted of listening to the recordings and identifying speakers, as well as adding impressions and suggestions for further investigation.

Personally, he suspected that in this case the latter activity was a waste of time. Jaime Mendoza had made clear that this was a DEA investigation and NCIS was simply the boots on the ground.

Although, he mused, it was just conceivably possible that Lapaglia and Macaluso could skate on any real charges stemming from last night's meeting. If so, maybe they could do a joint op to find and neutralize the networks the other dons had set up. It was certainly worth looking into the possibility.

An hour into the debriefing, DiNozzo paused the playback and gave Deeks a grin. "Ask a favor?"

Deeks matched the grin. "Depends on the favor."

"Coffee? Nobody bothered to set it up in here."

"I could go for a cup. Where's the break room?"

"The stuff in the break room doesn't qualify as coffee." DiNozzo pulled a handful of bills from his pocket and handed them to Deeks. "Outside the Navy Yard gate, turn left. Go three blocks, turn right. Best coffee this side of the Anacostia."

"Left, three blocks, right. Got it." Deeks stood. "How do you take yours?"

"Hazelnut creamer, no sugar."

"Back in a bit."

When the door closed behind Deeks, G raised an eyebrow at DiNozzo. "What was that for?"

DiNozzo gave him an innocent look. "Coffee."

"That much better than the place out of the gate two blocks to the right?"

DiNozzo shrugged. "You got me."

"So what's going on?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing."

G didn't have to fake his surprise. "Me? I don't have anything going on."

"Yes, you do. You're off today - different than you were yesterday. Something about the op bugging you?"

"No," G answered truthfully.

"Then what?" DiNozzo waited for a count of sixty before adding, "You should know, I'm the one they send in to break the unbreakable suspects - you know, the ones who swear they're not gonna talk, not no how, not no way, not never. They talk to me."

"It's personal," G said, hoping that would satisfy the other man. He should've known better.

"Who better to talk to than a near stranger?"

G studied the other man, debating how much to say - and he would have to say something. DiNozzo was testing him, G felt certain, though he wasn't sure what the test was for.

Finally, G blew out a breath. "I filed a complaint against a friend with his boss - informally. I keep telling myself that I'm following proper procedures, but a part of me argues back that I should have told him to his face."

"What would that accomplish?" DiNozzo asked. "Besides potentially ending the friendship, I mean."

"That's the part that made me chicken out." G couldn't believe he admitted that aloud. And maybe this was what made DiNozzo a good interrogator - he could get people to open up even when they didn't want to.

"He that good a friend?"

"More that I have so few I don't want to lose one if I can avoid it."

"That sucks."

"Yes. It does." And it felt good to admit it to someone who appeared to get it and, more importantly, didn't judge him for it.

DiNozzo sat quietly for a moment, twisting a pen in his fingers, before meeting G's gaze. "Are we talking about Gibbs?"

G kept his expression neutral. "I worked for the FBI and CIA before I came to NCIS. Why would you jump to it being about Jethro?"

"Because he's Leroy Jethro second-B-for-bastard Gibbs," DiNozzo said, as though it were obvious. "And because I got an earful from McGee when they got back from L.A. on the Rivkin op."

G frowned. "Earful? About what?"

"About how I had obviously colluded with you to embarrass him in front of Gibbs."

G snorted. "Why would I do that? _How_ would I do that?"

"When they were getting ready to leave, and McGee was giving me his patented _the Boss picked me so I'm better than you_ expression, I told him he'd have to make conversation, and suggested he pick up a copy of _Sniper Monthly._ "

G grinned. "I gave him a copy on his way out, said it always worked for me. Still not seeing the connection."

"Gibbs didn't talk to him on the flight out or the flight back."

G's eyebrows lifted. "So we colluded."

"Apparently."

"Never occurred to him that Jethro might not find him that interesting?"

"Apparently not."

"McGee has issues."

"He has subscriptions. So it is about Gibbs?"

G had to chuckle. "You are good, sneaking the loaded questions in like that."

"I try."

The conference room door opened before DiNozzo could quiz him anymore, and Deeks came in carrying a cupholder with three cups in it.

"So, yeah, don't hate me," Deeks said, "but Gibbs said the best coffee is from a place two blocks to the right out of the gate. Had me bring him back one, too, even after I told him you were buying. Sorry about that."

"Not the first time." DiNozzo accepted a cup from Deeks.

G took a cup as well, and took a sip, then another. It was good coffee, but it wouldn't replace the tea he usually preferred.

"So." Deeks sat down with his own cup. "What'd I miss? Have you gotten to the shootout yet?"

An hour and a half later, the conference room door banged open and Gibbs stuck his head inside. "Grab your gear, DiNozzo - got a body on the Mall."

DiNozzo froze, his expression caught between an instinct to obey and a desire to finish the debriefing.

After a glance at G, he said, "Still debriefing, Boss. Probably another hour to go."

Left unsaid was that the sooner the debriefing was conducted, the fresher and more complete his and G's memories of the event would be.

"You wanna let the body lie there another hour?"

G winced at Gibbs' sarcastic tone, but just as DiNozzo was about to stand, Deeks spoke.

"I can help you out."

"You can." It was a flat statement, but Deeks just grinned.

"Yep. Homicide detective, LAPD. I know how to work a crime scene." He rose from his chair, "I can sketch or bag and tag while your people interview witnesses."

Gibbs looked dubious, but Deeks continued, "Besides, I don't have anything to add to the debrief. You'd be doing me a favor."

Which, G reflected, was not the best way to approach Leroy Jethro Gibbs, but Gibbs only scowled and said, "You can use DiNozzo's gear."

"It's in the bag you tossed at your desk?" Deeks asked.

"Yeah." The surprise on DiNozzo's face didn't show up in his tone.

"Promise I'll bring it all back in the condition I found it." Deeks grinned and followed Gibbs out of the room.

After the door closed behind them and before DiNozzo reached to turn on the recorder again, G said, "Which part of that surprised you?"

DiNozzo shook his head. "Which part didn't? Gibbs isn't known for playing well with others. Or for having his orders challenged."

G sat quietly for a moment, gathering his thoughts before he spoke. "You obviously like working with him - or at least can tolerate it," he amended. "But if you get tired of it, let me know. We could use another solid undercover operator at OSP."

DiNozzo's eyes widened briefly before his expression shuttered again. "Thanks. I'll keep the offer in mind."


	6. Chapter 6

It was a good two hours after Deeks left before G and DiNozzo finished the debrief, thanks to Director Vance joining them partway through. G took his appearance in stride - after dealing with Owen Granger on a regular basis, Leon Vance was positively unchallenging - and after a few minutes, DiNozzo relaxed and finished the debriefing easily.

When it was over, Vance dismissed DiNozzo and, when the door was closed behind him, turned to G.

"What are your impressions of him?"

G rose to refill his coffee cup from the carafe on a side table that had showed up somewhere in the third hour of the debriefing. "DiNozzo?"

"Yes."

G took a sip of the coffee - weaker than he'd expected, given NCIS's affiliation with the Navy - and returned to his seat.

"I told him if he ever got tired of working with Jethro, we could use him."

"Really?" Vance tried, unsuccessfully, to conceal his surprise.

"Why are you surprised?" G countered. "He's good undercover and he has a solid record at NCIS."

For once, Vance looked at a loss for words. "He's just - not the kind of agent I see as the future of NCIS."

"Which makes me wonder what kind of agent you do see as the future of NCIS." G raised his cup to his lips.

"Agents like McGee."

G choked on his coffee and coughed, long and hard, as some of the lukewarm liquid caught in his throat.

Vance waited until the coughing fit was over and G wiped his face before asking mildly, "You don't agree?"

G shrugged. "I'm sure Agent McGee has useful skills, but he's a lousy field agent."

"What makes you say that?"

"He never came into the field with us when he and Jethro came out to L.A., never even offered. And he didn't know what a duress word is."

"The MCRT is not a specialized unit, like OSP."

"I know, but if he were a field agent - if he had any interest in it at all - he'd know things like that. How'd he do in the fieldwork courses at FLETC?"

Vance frowned, but G couldn't tell whether it was thoughtful or annoyed. G cautiously took another sip of coffee and swallowed before adding, "Eric said he's good at a computer, but that doesn't help with interviewing witnesses and suspects, and the flashes of intuition that bring a case together. Those are things technology can't do."

G allowed himself a wry twist of his mouth. "Besides - what good are computers when the bad guys are off the grid?"

"You make good points, Agent Callen. Food for thought." Vance rose, and G stood with him. "You're heading back now?"

"Soon as Deeks gets back," G said. "He went with Jethro's team to a crime scene while DiNozzo and I were debriefing."

Vance's lip twitched, ever so slightly. "I'd love to be a fly on the wall for that."

G chuckled. "I'm sure I'll hear all about it on the way back."

"Thanks for coming, Agent Callen - and not just because of the op last night." Vance offered his hand. "Your visit gave me a lot to think about."

G shook his hand. "Just doing my job the best I know how."

"I wish more agents did that."

Then Vance left the room, and G found himself at loose ends until he had a call from Deeks with his return ETA. How was he supposed to fill the unknown amount of time until then?

Then he remembered he'd promised to talk to Abby and started for the elevator.

G chatted with Abby - or more accurately, listened to her chatter about everything from DNA fabrication cases to her last bowling game with … the nuns? G shook his head and let her continue - for almost half an hour, careful to stay out of her way as she moved around her lab.

 _Hurricane Abby has been downgraded to a tropical storm_ , he thought, amused. He must've grinned because she whirled to face him.

"What's so funny about Sister Rosita breaking a nail when she went bowling?"

"You mean aside from nuns bowling in the first place?" G countered. "Do they wear full habits when they do?"

"Of course not."

"So not as funny as the picture in my mind," G said, and was about to offer an apology when the door to the lab slid open and a glowering Agent McGee came in, lugging a box almost overflowing with evidence bags.

"You brought me presents, McGee!" Abby danced over to the table where McGee set the box. "And it's not even my birthday. Why so down?"

"Tony wasn't there," McGee said, as if that explained everything. Then he seemed to notice that G was in the room. "Nothing against Deeks."

"Looks like Deeks bagged and tagged twice what I'd expect from a murder scene," Abby observed as she started pulling bags from the box and initialing them.

"There were two bodies, not just one," McGee explained. "The second one was an FBI agent. You know what that means."

"Fornell," Abby said, and G looked up from where he'd been idly examining the contents of the evidence bags.

"Tobias Fornell?" he asked.

McGee gave him a dubious look. "You know him?"

"Met him when I worked for the FBI."

"You were a Fibbie?" The question might have been simple curiosity, if not for the venom in McGee's tone.

G straightened and met McGee's disdainful expression with a glare. "Are you rude to everyone who worked at other agencies, or just me?"

McGee's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, reminding G of a betta fish one of his foster families had owned.

"But - but -" McGee began, then swallowed and straightened his shoulders. "I was just teasing. Gibbs teases Fornell all the time."

"You don't know me well enough to tease me," G countered. Then he turned to Abby. "If McGee's back, that means Deeks is back, too, or almost. I should get back upstairs so we can head to the airport."

Abby flew into his arms. "Have a good flight! Don't wait so long to come see me again."

"You can come to L.A., too, you know." G hugged her briefly. "Take care, Abby."

McGee followed him to the elevator.

"Deeks wasn't a problem, was he?" G asked while they waited for the elevator to arrive.

"No," McGee said quickly. "No, he's good. Why do you ask?"

The doors slid open. G stepped into the elevator and touched the button for the appropriate floor.

"Just the way you said that DiNozzo wasn't at the crime scene. Made me think something went wrong."

"Not wrong," McGee said. "Just - the boss was grumpier than usual. Wrong info from dispatch, then Fornell arriving."

"I see," G said, though he didn't. What difference would DiNozzo's presence have made in that scenario?

Still, he let McGee's answer lie for the rest of the short trip to the bullpen. When he stepped off the elevator, he saw Gibbs, DiNozzo, Bishop, Deeks and a silver-haired man gathered around a plasma screen. The screen showed images of the two deceased victims as well as their official IDs.

"I spoke with Lieutenant Mendelson's commanding officer," DiNozzo was saying as G approached the group. "He had no knowledge of Mendelson meeting with Agent Bartolo, and no idea why such a meeting might have taken place. Which, of course, brings us to the most likely explanation."

"What's that?" Bishop asked.

"Lovers' quarrel."

"Get your mind outta the gutter and back on the case, DiNozzo," Gibbs snapped, and almost before G realized what was happening, his old friend reached up to slap DiNozzo's head.

G wasn't fast enough to prevent the contact, but he grabbed Gibbs' hand on its downward trajectory, yanked him off balance and turned him around to slam him into a nearby tall file cabinet, jerking Gibbs' hand up between his shoulder blades and leaning his weight into the other man.

At the edge of his peripheral vision, G saw the others, including Deeks, staring at them apparently in shock.

"What the hell, Callen?" Gibbs struggled to free his hand from G's grip.

"What the hell, Jethro?" G shot back. "What was that about?"

"A wake-up call," Gibbs said, shifting his weight in an attempt to break free. G countered the move instinctively. Training with Sam Hanna had its advantages. "DiNozzo needs to focus on the case."

"Sounded like he offered a possible motive to me," G said. "And even if it's not, why does a little humor warrant an assault?"

"Agent Callen." The director's voice came from above him, and G glanced up to Vance scowling down at him. "Let him go."

G held Vance's gaze for a long moment before stepping back. Gibbs straightened and whirled to face him. G didn't think he'd ever seen anyone as angry, even livid, as Gibbs appeared right now.

A twitch of Gibbs' hand had G raising his in warning. "Don't."

"Please do," Deeks said from behind G, sounding murderous.

"Hell of an entrance, Callen." The vaguely familiar voice came from the silver-haired man who'd been standing with the team. In context, G recognized him.

"I remember your hair being darker, Fornell." G grinned to rob the words of any offense and offered his hand even as he kept a wary eye on Gibbs.

"I remember yours being longer." Fornell was fighting to contain a grin, if G were any judge.

"Love to catch up," G said, "but I have some paperwork to fill out before I go. Agent Bishop?"

The blonde woman jumped. "Yes, Agent Callen?"

"Could you direct me to a workstation? Or Human Resources. Either will do."

"Agent Callen -" Vance began, and G glared at him.

"I'm a man of my word, Director," he said. "You know that."

Vance's lips thinned, but he nodded, once, and turned back to his office.

G turned back to Bishop. "Which way, please?"


	7. Chapter 7

Despite the lateness of their arriving flight, G strode into the OSP office before seven the next morning, a garment bag hooked over one shoulder. He nodded greetings to the few staff he encountered on his way to Hetty's office area.

She was, of course, already at her desk despite the early hour.

"Here you go, Hetty." He hung the garment back on the iron scrollwork edging her office. "One tailored Isaia suit. No blood, no damages, and the tailor waived the rush fee."

Hetty looked up, curiosity and skepticism warring on her features. "Why would he do that?"

"DiNozzo spun him a story about how I'd flown all the way across the country to beg a man for his daughter's hand in marriage, but my luggage got lost, and - well. You get the idea."

"Excellent." Hetty rose and came to take the garment bag from him. "I trust the operation was successful?"

G shrugged. "Depends whose standards you go by. Mendoza's happy, but I think we could've gotten more out of that meeting than we did."

"Still, it was his operation, and if he's pleased, that's all we can hope for." Hetty started for the wardrobe department, holding the garment bag high to keep it from dragging on the ground. "I received a copy of the complaint you lodged."

"Good," G said. "I'd told Vance I'd send it to my entire chain of command, including you, him, HR and Legal, Granger and all the assistant directors."

"Not SECNAV?" Hetty asked.

"Thought that might be overkill."

"Overkill may not always be necessary, Mr. Callen, but it is always effective and sometimes even fun."

G laughed. "For varying definitions of fun."

"Indeed." Hetty slotted the suit into place on one of the racks holding clothes tailored for him before turning back to face him. "You owe Mr. Beale a thank you."

G didn't even blink at the apparent _non sequitur_. Of course she'd have an explanation. "For what?"

"For ensuring your email got to all its intended recipients."

G's eyebrows shot up. "Someone tried to block it?"

"I have reported that _someone_ to Director Vance and sent him copies of the evidence Mr. Beale found."

"Good thing I printed off hard copies, then, and asked Legal to secure and copy the surveillance video from the bullpen."

"A very good thing." Hetty suddenly looked older than her years. "And a very sad thing, that it's come to this."

"It didn't have to happen this way," G said. "If anyone - DiNozzo, any of his teammates, Vance, _anyone_ \- had done the right thing from the start, I wouldn't have had to file the report."

Hetty regarded him steadily. "It must have been difficult for you to do that to a friend."

G leaned against a support column, hoping the pose looked more casual than he felt. "I told Vance I would. I'm sorry that I had to, but Jethro forced the issue."

Hetty appeared to consider her next words carefully. "Are you concerned that you may have lost a friend?"

As if G hadn't considered that question since before he'd sent the email He could only offer the conclusion he'd come to in the hours before dawn. "If I lose him because of that, then he wasn't the friend - or the man - I thought he was."

And that thought hurt more than he'd expected. But what he'd said to DiNozzo was true - he had few friends and losing one …. G could only hope it wouldn't come to that. Knowing Jethro, he probably hoped in vain.

"A commendable outlook, Mr. Callen," Hetty said. "Buddhism teaches that releasing expectations is one of the four noble truths that lead to nirvana."

G smiled fondly at her as she turned back toward her desk. "Don't expect me to go sit under a fig tree. That would drive Sam over the edge."

"Very likely so," Hetty agreed. Then her expression turned grave. "I owe you thanks, Mr. Callen - for pointing out my failure with Agent DiNozzo."

There was a conversational land mine if he'd ever heard one. G ran through several possible responses before settling on, "I'm glad it was helpful."

"It was," Hetty said, and G fell into step with her. "In more ways than one. I had fallen victim, you see, to the easy answer."

"I'm not following."

"When Agent DiNozzo arrived, I reminded him that his last visit to Los Angeles didn't go very well."

G remembered. "Because Director Shepard was murdered."

"It's to my shame that I was blaming him for that," Hetty said. "I read the reports - his, Liaison Officer David's, and the investigating officer's. They all concluded that not only was Agent DiNozzo following Shepard's direct order to leave her, but that the outcome would have been no different if he and Officer David had been with Director Shepard at the time of her death - save that they would have died with her."

G understood. "Yet you still blamed DiNozzo."

"I _wanted_ to blame him," Hetty explained as she sat heavily behind her desk. "Both him and Officer David. I wanted to blame them, because if they had behaved differently, then a woman I called a friend might still be alive."

Sympathy welled within G - he understood all too well the need to find reasons, explanations, for things that really couldn't be explained in any rational fashion. But he knew Hetty well enough to know that she wouldn't welcome any outward display of that sympathy, so he only nodded.

"The next time I see Agent DiNozzo, I will behave better."

G held back a grin with effort. "I'll hold you to your word."

Something in his tone made her eyes narrow. "Oh?"

G knew he was going to pay for this in ways he'd never expect, but he let the grin out anyway. "I invited him to come work with us if he ever gets tired of working with Jethro."


	8. Chapter 8

So ... I deliberately left the prior chapter (aka the whole story) in an "unfinished" place, to use a term offered by one of my commenters. It was hard to avoid doing so, since I limited the story to G's POV, but that doesn't mean that I liked leaving it that way.

A few days and a lot of conversations with the muse later, here's a slightly more "finished" place. I hope it satisfies, at least somewhat.

 _One week later…._

G had never considered himself particularly religious, but he'd always respected those who did. The Church of the Unlocked Mind case was making him reconsider that stance.

Certainly the argument could be made that the Church of the Unlocked Mind wasn't a real religion, and G allowed that might be the case. Still, whatever name it went by, that Church demanded so much of one's will and life that it could not, ultimately, be good.

Thankfully, he hadn't had to go undercover inside the church as Kensi and Deeks had, much less been assaulted like Kensi had. Still, the case left a bad taste in his mind, and he couldn't finish the final reports for it fast enough.

His phone rang, and G stifled a curse. Whoever was calling was just one more delay in completing his report.

He tried to keep his impatience from his voice when he answered. "Callen."

"Huh. Figured you'd be out saving the world or something."

G recognized Tony DiNozzo's voice and sat back in his chair, closing his laptop. If this call was about what he thought it was about, he'd need all his focus for it. "Only on Tuesdays."

"Today's Thursday, must be my lucky day."

G chuckled briefly. Then, "You calling to take me up on my offer?"

"Nah. Hetty and me … like mixing oil and water."

When DiNozzo didn't elaborate, G blew out a breath and asked the question he didn't want to ask but had to. "How are things at the Navy Yard?"

"Interesting," was all DiNozzo said.

G couldn't help asking, "In the cursed sense of the word?"

To G's ears, DiNozzo's laugh sounded a little forced. "Maybe a little. Gibbs has been suspended pending the results of an FBI investigation."

"I heard." More accurately, he'd been subjected to a couple of phone calls from an irate Leroy Jethro Gibbs during which the man had - well, after babysitting Kamran Hanna since she was a toddler, G could only say that his old friend had thrown a temper tantrum.

He'd let Jethro rant for the first call, figuring he owed him that much for the friendship they'd shared. When Jethro called the second time and started in the same vein, however, G asked him to talk civilly about it. Jethro shouted some more, and G hung up on him. There had been eight more hang-ups before Jethro quit calling.

G hoped their friendship would survive, but after Jethro's truly spectacular and inventive methods of cussing G out, he wasn't hopeful.

"I'll bet you did." There was no humor in DiNozzo's tone, only weary understanding. His voice sounded stronger when he said, "And since they confirmed that he was behind your email going mysteriously awry, McGee's been reassigned to IT to oversee an agency-wide systems update."

G blinked, frowning even though DiNozzo couldn't see it. "IT? Not Cyber Crimes?"

DiNozzo snorted. "Vance learned his lesson the first time."

"First time?" G prompted.

"Right after he became director, he broke up the MCRT," DiNozzo said. "Ziva was sent back to Israel, I got shipped off as an agent afloat, and McGee was reassigned to Cyber Crimes…where they treated him like a god."

"Not the best place to send him for punishment, then." G paused. "It is punishment, right?"

"Oh, yeah. The worst kind."

"I would've thought firing him would be worst punishment."

"My contact in HR tells me that a stint in IT, especially after being with Cyber Crimes, will look really, really bad on his resume."

G let out a low whistle. "That is twisted and perverted. I like it. Vance's idea?"

"AD Owen Granger," DiNozzo replied.

"So that's where he's been the last few days," G murmured more to himself than to DiNozzo. Of course DiNozzo picked up on it.

"Yeah. Flew in to personally suspend Gibbs and Vance and take over as acting director."

Another surprise in a phone call full of them. "Both of them?"

"Both of them." Then DiNozzo chuckled. "You should've seen him confront Gibbs."

G pictured the moment in his mind. "The growling contest to end all growling contests. If Granger weren't AD, even money on who'd win that."

"Some people still think Gibbs won that contest - even if Granger outranks him."

"Some people are unobservant."

"Or blindly loyal."

G winced, even though there was no rebuke in DiNozzo's tone, nor any ironic self-awareness. But then again, DiNozzo didn't strike him as the kind who would be blindly loyal.

Loyal, yes, but DiNozzo would have reasons for that loyalty, even if outsiders like G wouldn't or couldn't understand them.

After a moment, G said, "How about you? How're you doing?"

"I'm … okay," DiNozzo answered finally. "Temporary MCRT lead while Gibbs is on suspension."

G closed his eyes against the resignation in DiNozzo's tone - not just the fact of it, but his questions about it. Anger, he understood. Frustration, he understood. But why resignation? There was only one way to try to find out.

"Sorry for making a scene," G said. "But I couldn't let it slide again."

DiNozzo's sigh came through the line - not as heavy as G would've expected, but still noticeable. "I should've said something a long time ago."

It was on the tip of G's tongue to ask why he hadn't, but he stopped himself. He and DiNozzo weren't friends, weren't really even colleagues. That kind of question might be out of bounds.

Thankfully, DiNozzo filled the silence that threatened to become awkward. "But that's not why I called."

At the seriousness of his tone, G straightened in his chair. "What's up?"

"Remember how the DEA jumped the gun?"

G snorted. "And shot up a perfectly good Italian restaurant?"

"That should be a crime," DiNozzo said.

"It should. What about it?"

"Somebody higher up the food chain than your former partner realized that, and now wants Tony Macaluso to fill the void that shoot-'em-up left and take down the distribution networks."

 _Like that wasn't our original plan._ "Better late than never."

"Think Sebastiano Lapaglia might want to get in on the action?"

G smiled, though DiNozzo couldn't see it. "Seeing as how he was the one who got Tony Macaluso into the meeting, it seems fitting."

"How quickly can you get to DC?" DiNozzo asked.

"Tell Granger you want my assistance," G said. "He'll make it happen."

"You sure?" DiNozzo sounded skeptical. "He's grumpier than Gibbs."

"Grumpy, yeah, but he'll authorize it. Meantime, I'll look for flights to DC."

"Okay." Just when G thought DiNozzo was hanging up, DiNozzo spoke again. "And Callen? Thanks."

"Always happy to help catch bad guys," G said lightly.

"Not for that." DiNozzo's tone was as serious as G's was light. "For making a scene. It was a real wake-up call."

G knew he wasn't imagining DiNozzo's slight stress on the word _real,_ and he pitched his tone to match. "Less painful than Jethro's, I hope."

"Differently painful," DiNozzo said. "But yours was necessary."

 _His weren't_. The words echoed, unsaid, between them. G let the silence linger for a moment, acknowledging both what DiNozzo said and what he didn't say.

"If you want to talk, I'll listen." It sounded inadequate to G's ears, but it was all he could think of to say.

"You can buy me a drink after we dismantle the Mafia distribution networks."

G smiled at the invitation. "No Scotch older than either of us."

"No problem," DiNozzo agreed readily. "See you tomorrow."

G stared at the phone for a long moment after he hung up. At least he had one less reason to lie awake at night now. He might have damaged his friendship with Jethro beyond repair, but maybe - just maybe - he was making another one to add to his limited collection.

It might not be a flawless victory, to borrow a term from one of Aiden's video games, but it was a victory nonetheless.

He'd take it.


End file.
